


Right Place, Right Time (Or, Marius Is Cursed and Nobody Knows Who's Really Who)

by dontfret_monsieurmarius



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: And time jumps, Canon to the film, Cosette is in love with Marius, Enjolras & Éponine Thénardier Friendship, Eponine is in love with Marius, Eventual Éponine/Marius - Freeform, Everyone is friends with Éponine, F/M, Grantaire & Éponine Thénardier Friendship, Hope you don't get confused, M/M, Magic, Marius is a time traveler, Marius is in love with Marius, Minor Enjolras/Grantaire, Switches time frames a lot, This is what I see people doing all the time, Waaaah I'm new to this tagging system, Will take some detours, mainly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:49:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontfret_monsieurmarius/pseuds/dontfret_monsieurmarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius Blackburn was a happy farmers son going to get happily married to his lovely girlfriend Caroline. And then he killed a witch's husband. The witch cursed both Marius and Caroline to another time, with one remembering everything, and the other not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't know what to put for the summary. Oops. My first Les Mis fic, so be nice. There will be more. Props to my lovely beta amis-de-l-abc on tumblr.   
> It will get longer, as it goes on. This is only the prologue, to gague an interest.   
> Hit me up on my tumblr theprinceacademy if you want.

_"They're coming!"_

_People are yelling, and Marius is running. They're all running, but Marius especially. He's taken his shoes off to get a better grip on the ground and he's propelling forward. His breath is coming out quickly, making icy clouds in the frosty air. His face is numb from the cold and he's fairly certain his cheeks are red enough that his freckles no longer show. On another day, he would be glad about that. But not today. His dirty brown tunic is clinging to his body as he runs forward and away. His feet are catching on twigs and stones and his toes are hurting, but he doesn't care because **they're coming.**_

_"Caroline!" he calls out, hoping to find the beautiful blonde girl. He doesn't stop running, though. He can't stop, because then they'll catch him. "Caroline!" He calls out, again and again, still running and running._

_"She's been caught." The voice stops him in his tracks. It's a familiar voice - one that always came with a heavy feeling in his gut. It's there now, too, but multiplied by the words she speaks._

_"No." Marius says it resolutely, not turning to look at the woman's face. It's a face he knows well though, from the battle the year before. When her husband went mad and-_

_"Yes." And oh, does that make him feel sick. But she's lying, she has to be. Finally he turns, and the woman he never learned the name of because he'd always been too afraid to ask is looking at him with an earnest face. "But I can help you."  
 _A spark of hope runs through him. Caroline can be saved. "How?"__

_"Magic." She says it simply and sweetly, but it still makes him want to run. The dark arts are something he was taught to never mess with. But this is Caroline and he needs her to live._

_"Why?" says Marius, suspiciously and with a slight break in his voice. The witch cackles and smiles an eerie smile. She says:_

_"Do you want your betrothed, my dear, or not? Time is running out, after all. I can't help her if she's dead." Marius doesn't point out that she didn't answer his question, because she's right. Time is of the essence, and he needs Caroline to live. He nods and the witch grins, big and wide, showing her rotting teeth. "I'll save her."_

_"What's in it for you? What do you want in return?"_

_"Agree, and I'll tell you."_

_"Agree?! Agree to what? Precious seconds tick by and you're wasting time by not giving me a straight answer!"_

_"You're a smart one," the woman ponders. "Oh, don't look at me like that. She has time. They're still looking for people and then they'll ride them back to the castle. They'll hang them in the morning." A bright anger rises in Marius. He's furious._

_"Save her! Do whatever you want, just make sure she lives!" he shouts, eyes watering from the cold._

_"Very well, dearie." And with those three words, a black cloud of smoke rises from the woman's mouth. The cloud soars up into the sky and off in the direction of his village. Marius watches silently for a few moments. When the smoke is no longer in sight, he looks at the woman. For a minute she does nothing, trapped in a frozen state. A loud shout escapes from her and when silence falls again the woman is smiling. "It is done."_

_"What did you do?"_

_"Oh, I just sent her soul through time and placed it in another person." Marius must look furious, or pitiful, because the witch's expression softens slightly. "You wanted me to save her, and I have. I've just done it in a way that would cause you some pain."_

_"Why? What have I done?"_

_"You killed my husband. You've taken him away from me, so I've taken your love from you."_

_"You did what I asked. You saved her. That's all I care about." And as he says the words, he knows for certain that they are true. The woman looks furious._

_"Fine. Have it your way." She mumbles something under her breath -a language he's never heard before- and the smoke comes again. But now it's headed for him. For a moment, he thinks about running from it, but shakes the idea as he realizes he could never escape. Darkness washes over him. His head feels light and his eyes start to hurt. When light enters his vision, he's on the floor, lying down as if he'd fallen. He doesn't ask what she did to him because he doesn't want to know. She tells him anyway. "You are doomed to watch your love die. And to think I'd have spared her if you'd kept your pretty little mouth shut."_

_She comes towards him and the light catches on something in her hand. A knife, he realizes. He's too weak to move. He can't escape._

_"Goodbye, Marius," she says, right before plunging the knife into his heart._

_________________________

He wakes with a start, gasping for air. He runs his fingers over the scar on his breast then runs his fingers through his hair. He looks different now. His hair is a peculiar cross between brown and red, often changing colours in different lights. His body is slimmer and taller. His face more narrow. His features make him look different, but he still has freckles running all over his body, his face, and even on his lips. It's a small comfort, having one thing the same, when everything else has changed. 

He has two lives in his head, now. The one of Marius Blackburn, the lowly farmer's son who was going to marry for love, and the one of Marius Pontmercy, the rich student cum revolutionary. It makes him laugh when he thinks of that, because in his previous life, he'd have done anything to have the sort of money he threw away in this one. But he wouldn't change it, not for anything. He's determined to fight for what's right. Fight for the poor the way he should have back then. 

"Marius," a calling voice interrupts his thoughts. "I hope you're up." 

"Up, but not dressed, my friend," he calls back, happiness in his voice. 

"Well, hurry up. We're going to be late, and then Enjolras will be in a mood." Courfeyrac's voice is filled with teasing. 

"He's always in a mood," Marius laughs, pulling on his trousers. 

"Yes, but even more so if you're late." Courfeyrac steps into the room and leans on the door frame. Marius pulls on his shirt and waistcoat, and laughs again. "Hurry, we want to get there before it ends." They share a look and a smile before setting off, Marius tying his scarf as they walked. 

Courfeyrac is a friend that Marius never thought he would find. He's loyal, kind, and funny. He's generous -generous enough to let Marius stay at his apartment after he left his grandfather. Courf had taken Marius to a meeting of the Les Amis. Marius supposed the meeting would have gone alright, had Enjolras not been leading it. He doesn't even remember what they fought about, but they'd argued and Marius had been set against going back. Courf explained that Enjolras wasn't the easiest to get along with but he was a good leader, and Marius had been fighting for their cause since. 

They get to the Cafe Musain quickly, entering the loud room with large smiles. 

"You're late." Marius fights the urge to rolls his eyes. Enjolras doesn't smile. "Sit down." They take seats at one of the tables, and Marius turns to Courfeyrac. But before he opens his mouth, Enjolras stands up. "Right, now that everyone's here," he looks pointedly at Marius and Courfeyrac, "let's begin." 


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I may not be able to write very long things. I apologise. However, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Feedback is welcomed, and, my dears, constructive criticism as well. More props to my lovely beta at amis-de-l-abc on tumblr. I'm at theprinceacademy on tumblr as well.

_The sun is shining, shooting rays down on the wheat, turning it into glimmering golden colour. Marius loves this time of year, he really does. And he especially loves this weather. The wind is blowing through the air, whipping it into soft gusts that rustle the leaves gently._

_In his hand, Marius holds a red apple, slightly dulled and bruised, that he stole from Mr. Cooper’s tree. He should feel bad about it, he thinks, as the apple comes to his mouth, as his teeth bite into the fruit, but as the juice runs into his mouth and the flavour explodes on his tongue, he just can’t. He lets his arm fall onto his stomach as he lays in the yellow field, looking up into the cloudless azure sky. The wheat tickles his face where it sways in the breeze, and Marius sighs contently._

_On its way to his mouth again, the apple gets knocked out of his hand by a falling… something. That something lands on top of him, effectively knocking the air out of his lungs._

_“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” comes a voice from the something on top of him. Despite the vulgarity of the words, Marius makes the vague comparison between her voice and the music of angels. The girl gets up clumsily, brushing the dirt off her dress. Her hair is messy and splayed around like she just got out of bed, the wheat stuck in it blending in with the golden locks, her cheeks are red from running, and she’s beautiful. She’s like light, like the sun, and Marius reddens - he’s never seen a girl so beautiful. He looks at her, catches her eye. He feels stricken, still. Something washes over him, and before he knows it, his whole world seems to stop. He feels different._

_“It’s fine,” he says assuredly, slowly as he overcomes this feeling, smiling as he sits up. He inspects his apple, shows it to her. “I’m fine. My food, not so much.” It’s covered in mud and looks beyond saving._

_“Sorry, sir. Sorry.” The girl has her head ducked, but she looks skittish and ready to run._

_“I said its fine,” he tells her. “No harm done.” The girl seems slightly at ease, and he feels instantly better. “What were you running from?” She fumbles with her words, hesitates, and looks very resemblant a child caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing. Oh. “You were running from the market?” he asks carefully, narrowing his eyes. She nods and he sighs. “You don’t have any food with you.”_

_“Had to drop it.” She looks severely disappointed with that, and he laughs._

_“There’s an apple tree just at the end of the field. They’re ripe, now. We could get some from there, if you’re hungry?” he asks shyly. The girl grins._

_“You don’t have to pity me, sir. I can take care of myself.” She doesn’t sound too upset._

_“Yes, I’m sure,” he tells her happily, and he finds he genuinely means it. “But you owe me an apple anyway. So you can climb the tree.” She throws her head back with a laugh, looking entirely un-graceful, but never more beautiful as she does._

_“It’s a deal.”_

_They start walking in companionable silence until Marius stops and turns to her._

_“Oh, for shame, I’m doing this all wrong. I don’t even know your name.” He laughs softly. “I’m Marius.”_

_“Caroline,” she says, with the prettiest blush on her cheeks._

_____________________________________

Les Amis de l’ABC are mostly all in the café, surprisingly. Enjolras and Combeferre are perched on one of the tables, discussing in quiet voices. They’re complete opposites, and they work. Enjolras is to Combeferre as severity is to gentleness, as bitter is to sweet, as red is to blue, as logic is to philosophy and as divinity is to nature. 

Jehan is sitting quietly, falling in love once again. Marius knows that feeling - of falling in love - and often wishes he could do it as easily and as often as Jehan. Though, every time he imagines his love for anyone other than Caroline, something unpleasant unfurls in his stomach. 

Feuilly, Bahorel and Joly are talking in the corner, and it seems like Enjolras and Combeferre are the only ones talking about the Revolution. Not that Marius minds, entirely. He’s committed, of course, but he needs to find Caroline. It feels like the longer he waits, the more he forgets her. The thought fills him with dread. 

“Mes amis!” Grantaire calls from the corner where he’s lounging in a chair. Their heads turn to him, curious expressions on their faces. Grantaire shifts, bottles clinking as he does so. He’s a little unsteady, but he’s used to the alcohol, so it’s nothing he can’t handle. “I would like to raise a glass, and have a toast.” A few boys chuckle. 

“Any excuse to drink, R,” Courfeyrac calls as he walks into the café. 

“Courf!” Grantaire laughs to the other man. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?” he asks, amused, as he takes a seat next to Marius. 

“I thought you might appreciate my toast.” A few eyebrows raise, and Courfeyrac looks expectantly at him. Grantaire raises his glass, grins and laughs, and exclaims, “To pretty women!” The group laugh, indulging him, raising their glasses and repeating his toast, before tipping back their respective drinks. Enjolras does not look amused. R stands and wanders over to him. Combeferre, noting Enjolras’ particularly stern expression, walks to the other side of the café, to join Marius and Courfeyrac. 

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” Enjolras tells the drunkard, eyebrows furrowing. 

“You shouldn’t be so moody,” Grantaire counters. 

“You don’t care for our cause,” Enjolras claims, mildly insulted and annoyed. 

“I care for **you**.” Enjolras’ cheeks redden in a way that may be construed as anger, but Grantaire knows differently. His words have an effect on the cold man, something for which he is eternally grateful. Keeping his voice low, and schooling his expression into one of a smirk, he leans close and says, “Not to worry, Mon amour. I am fully dedicated to Les Amis.” With a raise of his eyebrows, Grantaire staggers back to the corner, back to his bottles and his alcohol, where he can drown himself in alcohol.  
From the other side of the room, Jehan watches carefully. There’s something different about the way those two interact, he ponders. Something unique, but ultimately familiar. He blushes, for whatever reason, he doesn’t know ( he usually never does), and turns back to his poem. 

“Excuse moi, mes amis. I must bid you adieu,” Marius tells them. Courfeyrac protests, saying:

“I only just arrived!” but makes no other move to stop him. And with a simple nod, Marius leaves the building. 

Once he’s outside, he stares out into the streets. It’s so different from his home -his first home- that it often overbears him. There are no vast fields or random apple trees. No quaint cottages or stables. It smells the same, though. Or similar, at least. The smell here is a lot more pungent, but it’s similar. 

“Monsieur Marius,” a coarse voice comes from behind him. Leaning against the wall, skinny and dirty, but something else that he can never put his finger on, is Éponine. 

“Bonjour,” Marius says back. He dearly loves Éponine. He felt a connection the moment they first met. He just knew they’d become friends - her history reminded him of Caroline, the way her humour did. The way she loved to tease, her jokes, so very similar to Caroline. He thought all her qualities would make him heartsick, but they made him feel strangely whole.

“I brought something for you,” she says, and he knows that she mustn’t have come by that something easily. Or, perhaps too easily. She holds out her hand, and for one second, one painful second, his heart clenches. Éponine, in her frail but clever hand, is holding a dull red apple.


	3. Chapter 3

"M'sieur Marius?" someone is saying - Éponine, he realises. Éponine, with her frail exterior but strong mind; Éponine, with her teasing words and tragic past; Éponine who just handed him an apple, like Caroline used to do, and he thought he wouldn't feel this painful again, with his heart clenching and the breath being knocked out of him in shallow gasps, but he does. "Are you alright?" Her voice is like gravel, as if she recently drank a bottle of Grantaire's absinthe. And maybe she had, but Grantaire is still in the cafe and Éponine is here. And looking more and more concerned the longer Marius stays quiet. 

"Yes," he blurts, the word rushing out on his breath. "I'm quite alright, 'Ponine." Her worried expression dissipates somewhat, but remains softly on her features. 

"If you're sure," she says, not sounding entirely convinced. He can hardly blame her. "For a moment there, I thought you'd gone completely insane." There's a quirk of her lips, one that appears often, one that brings a faint ache to his chest. 

"No, not completely," he assures, mouth curving into a small smile. 

"Good!" Éponine declares, eyes twinkling with mischief. Marius chuckles. 

"Are you quite alright, 'Ponine?" he asks her softly, wanting to know why she's there, but not knowing how to ask. 

"I'm fine, M'sieur," she tells him, and her dark eyes flicker to the cafe briefly, so quickly he hardly noticed. "Better than you, anyway." She's teasing, and Marius' heart feels lighter. 

"I love it when you tease, Éponine," laughs Marius. He finds himself realising there's a deeper truth to the words - one he doesn't quite understand. The dark haired girl blushes, but her cheeks are dirty but the mud and dust hides most of it. Before she responds, the cafe door swings open, the sounds from inside becoming louder and more prominent. 

The smell of alcohol appears long before Grantaire does, wafting out of the cafe like a cloud. The rest of the remaining Amis are still inside, but R wanders out, stumbling, with a satisfied smile. He blinks at Marius and Éponine, lips frozen into that peculiar curve. 

"'Ponine!" he cries happily, small smile growing into a large grin. 

"'Taire," she replies, voice softer than usual, and matching his smile with her own. Marius watches as Grantaire throws his arm lazily over Eponine's shoulders. Something niggles at his mind, and he feels a wave of annoyance extend to Grantaire. It's foolish, he knows, and he doesn't understand the reason, but it's there. 

"Come on inside, mon ami," Grantaire is saying, breath undoubtedly reeking of liquor, and Marius realises instantly that the invitation isn't for him. The annoyance grows. 

"I can't," Éponine begins weakly, and Marius wants to rolls his eyes at her attempt. She glances at him, at whilst he likes her looking - loves it, in fact. It feels right, somehow - he knows she's asking for permission, almost. He doesn't want her to leave, but he has things to do, and she had friends in the cafe. So, he says, as assuring as possible:

"You can, and you will. You have friends in there, dear 'Ponine."

"What about you?" She's concerned, and oh, does that make his heart clench and his cheeks heat. 

"I shall wander the streets with no qualms, if that is your worry." If the way her mouth is set is any indication, Éponine is nibbling on her gum, using what teeth she can to worry into the flesh. "Go. I'll be fine. I've survived this long; I think I can find it in me to survive longer."

"If you're sure..." she trails off, and really, it's as if she doesn't trust his mind. 

"I'm sure," Marius insists with a laugh. "Honestly, 'Ponine. Stop worrying so very much and see to your friends."  
Grantaire, who had remained quiet through the brief exchange, save for the occasional grunt in agreement, and still has his arm around the girl's shoulders, says, "I agree with Marius. Stop worrying and come inside. Relax. Take the weight off your feet, I'll even buy you a drink."

"You don't have to pity me, R. I can take care of myself," is Eponine's light reply. Marius' heart clenches again, and he really has to go now. 

"Then come inside and prove it, 'Ponine," the drunk demands playfully. "Leave Marius to his errands."

"And I believe that is my cue to leave," Marius laughs easily. "Au 'voir, dear Éponine. Grantaire." He waves goodbye and turns around, walking away with purpose. 

"Au 'voir," Éponine says quietly after him. Her voice doesn't even break, something she's actually rather proud of. 

"Cheer up," Grantaire soothes. "I'm sure he'll see it someday." 

"It almost sounds like you're speaking from experience." She looks at him as she says it, meaning it to come out playfully - because this is Grantaire. But his face contorts into something sad, something almost pitiful, something that Éponine is altogether too familiar with. 

"Maybe I am."

"What happened?" she asks, not sure if she wants to know the answer. 

"They saw," he whispers, and this has to be the worst she's seen him. Forget drunken stupors and passing outs somewhere, this look of unhappiness, of pure sadness, is enough to break Eponine's heart completely. She wraps her arm around his waist and squeezes. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she ushers him along to the cafe. They enter the building with no grandeur, Grantaire and Éponine unlocking from each other quietly

"Éponine!" is the friendly call from some of the others: Feuilly, Bahorel and Courfeyrac. Jehan remains quiet but smiles at her as she comes in. She smirks; full of false bravado and confidence, but the attention gets to her. 

"It's wonderful to see you, 'Ponine. You're rarely here," says Courfeyrac with a flirtatious lilt that Éponine never fails to match. 

"I only stay away, Courf, to stop from becoming overwhelmed by your presence."

"I think it's a little too late for that," he jokes back, eyes glinting as he teases. She smiles fondly, and it's strange, that she become fond of these boys. Throughout her childhood, she'd been spoilt. She and Azelma were given whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. They were jealous of no one. If she'd been told she would be friends with these boys back then, she would have laughed and claimed she had no business socializing with people like that. Later, when she was poor and people treated her as badly as she had treated those like her before, she thought herself unworthy of such friendship. 

"You're in very deep thought, there," Jehan points out, breaking her out of here revere. She turns slowly to look at the boy. He was surprising, to Éponine. So feminine and kind, gentle and soft. When she first saw him, she thought him unassuming, but now she knows better. She knows to look past the faint red cheeks; the long, blonde, plaited hair; the flowers; the poems. She knows to look deeper into that shy, intrepid body She's seen him during a protest, seen him defending a friend. She knows he isn't what he seems. 

"Yes," she begins, not really knowing what else to say.

"About?" 

"You. All of you. How I've come to find friends in you, when I least expected to." The poet looks surprised, lips parting softly and eyes widening. At her questioning glance, he explains:

"I thought you'd be thinking of Marius. It's my mistake, obviously. But you looked so happy that I simply assumed." He blushes, deeper than the constant pink his cheeks usually are. Éponine laughs softly, not offended in any way.

"It should worry me, that Marius is your first guess." Her face softens, her lips turn down slightly, and suddenly, she finds herself rather somber. "But you're not wrong. Marius was in my thoughts, as he always is. But he was simply at the back of my head this time."

"I could take your mind off him, if you wish?" And Eponine laughs, becuase he didn't mean it suggestively - of course he didn't, it's Jehan. He blushes deeper and ducks his head shyly. "I didn't mean-"

"I know, mon petit poet." The red on his cheeks spreads to his nose, lifts to his ears, curling around them softly, mixing with the gold of his hair. "You were saying?"

"I could read you a poem." It's such a Jehan thing, to think so thoughtfully of a person that he'd share his poem simply to distract them. She nods. "It's a beautiful poem. Captures the raw emotion of love, the burning agony of loving someone too much-" He breaks off, frowning in concern. "And it's most likely not going to distract you." 

"I don't mind. Read it to me, anyway." So he does. 

"I shall say what inordinate love is:  
The furiosity and frenzy of mind  
An inextinguishable burning lacking bliss  
A great hunger, insatiable to find  
A dulcet ill, an evil sweetness blind  
A right, wonderful, sugared, sweet error  
Labor without rest, contrary to kind  
And without peace to have great labor."

Something stirs in Éponine. She's moved by the words, by the tone of Jehan's voice. By the images the lines conjure. She never thought her feelings could be captured and put into form, but here they are, lingering in the air, fading away but sticking to her mind, clinging to her fingers and to her ears. The images are burnt into her eyelids - she knows she'll see them again when she sleeps, because she's seen them every night since she met Marius. But they were never in a form, always jumbled like a puzzle, mixed like a thousand colours, played like a thousand sounds. Above all, there's a familiarity with the words, which extends beyond her feelings. She knows these words, as if she'd written them herself, even if they are words she's never heard before. 

There's a hand on her arm, and she turns in a daze. Jehan is frowning again, concerned, and there is not a person on Earth that can make Éponine believe that expression belongs on the poet's face. She conjures her best smile. 

"It was beautiful." 

His concern seems sated for now, and he nods once, and then gives her a soft smile. He pushes over a piece of paper and whispers, "I have it memorised. Have this one." 

She thanks him, genuinely, and folds up the poem before wrapping her arms around him in a great hug. He laughs against her shoulder and returns the embrace. 

"Will you two get a room?" Bahorel jeers good-naturedly from where he's sat next to Grantaire. They break away and, as Jehan blushes once again, Éponine calls back:

"We have one, but you idiots are currently occupying it." There's a resounding laugh and a few half-arsed protests, and everyone settles. 

Éponine sits back in her seat, and for some odd reason, can't get the name 'Caroline' out of her head.

____

_The wind is blowing softly, making the grass surrounding the large apple tree sway. Caroline sits against the tree, feet bare and muddy, hair messy with straws and eating an apple. Marius lies at her feet, twiddling his thumbs, plucking at the grass, tapping his fingers and shuffling his feet. He compulsively licks his lips, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out._

_"I can hear you thinking," Caroline says, amusement in her voice. He doesn't say anything, just flushes and lets out a huff of air._

_Something lands on his stomach, making him groan a little in pain, so he picks up the offending object and examines it. An apple. He smiles. "Eat it. Maybe it'll stop the cogs in your head turning."_

_He giggles (and, seriously, what? Did he turn into a blushing twelve year old girl) and takes a bite of the fruit. It's a little bitter, not ripe enough, but the juices flow down his throat satisfyingly. He turns his head to look at Caroline. Her head's against the tree and her eyes are closed peacefully._

_She looks beautiful, despite her chapped lips and red-raw cheeks and scraggled hair. He looks at her, just watching the rise and fall of her chest, the soft flutter of her eyelids, the small quirk of her lips._

_"You're gorgeous," he blurts out, without any meditation on the thought. She laughs, but it sounds more like a scoff, so he tells her, "No, really. You are. You're different and new and completely wonderful." Her left eye peeks open, and she's wearing a small frown._

_"You're rather wonderful yourself, sir," she says with an amused tone laced with something else that makes him believe she means it. He blushes and closes his eyes in embarrassment. "Don't you have somewhere to be, today?"_

_"I don't. The farm is quiet, and I did all my chores before dawn." She looks horrified at the thought of getting up that early and he chuckles. "Do you?"_

_"Here is just the same as any," she tells him cryptically. With a grin, she looks him up and down and adds, "Maybe even better."_

_He stutters and the blush on his cheeks reaches up for his ears. Caroline's eyes widen and she mutters, "Shit," under her breathe before leaning forward, only the ghost of a smile on her face. "Am I going to see you again?"_

_"Of course! But I haven't even left yet." There's a pinch between Marius' eyebrows._

_"You haven't, but I must." She stands quickly, not bothering to brush herself off. "Goodbye, sir," she says quickly, walking back towards the market quickly. Marius watches as she moves forwards, stills, turns back towards him. She takes his head in her hands and presses a kiss to his forehead, looking more flustered than he's ever seen her. "Bye." And with that, she leaves._

___

Marius stands outside an old tavern, fingers tapping restlessly, looking up at the rundown building. It's big, with worn wood and moss and dirt running up and down it. It doesn't look out of place, not now, not in this part of Paris with its ruling bourgeois and it's poverty stricken people. He checks over his shoulder, feeling like someone is watching him, but he catches no one in the act, so he looks back at the tavern. Clenching his hands into fists, he tries desperately to gain the courage he needs to walk through the beaten door to meet his fate. 

She's there, he just knows it. He can almost feel her presence, and maybe that's what's got him nervous, what's got him checking over his shoulder constantly for a threat he never sees. 

His whole body goes rigid - his shoulder's straighten and his spine stiffens - moments before a warm breath splashes over the skin on his neck. 

"Marius Blackburn, I presume," a voice like broken glass says, the plosives sending bursts of air onto his skin. He's surrounded by a faint smell of spices and piss. The voice is deep and dark, spoken with an air of authority, but also with charm and grace. It's a man's voice. 

"You presumed right." He sucks in a deep breath and doesn't move. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am, dearie." Shivers run up his back. He does, of course he does. He's spent such a long time searching for her, so he knows. 

"I knew a woman, not a man." 

"Magic, dearie, does many things. Things that cannot always be controlled." The voice sounds bitter, resigned, like a mistake had been made. It sounds like regret and it sounds like hatred. "Alas, I am the witch you once knew. One you still don't know the name of, I assume." He almost blanches, but his body won't let him. 

"If I asked now, would you tell me?" 

"I would not." It's the answer Marius expected to hear, but it still confuses him. 

"Why?"

  
"Pure and utter spite."

  
Marius grinds his teeth and finally his body lets him move. He steps forward, almost set to run, but he has questions. He stays in that position of uncertainty - one foot forward, body poised to leave, but not going - for a few moments. He huffs a sigh and turns, swinging his body around with no grace.

  
"When am I going to find Caroline?" he asks, cutting to the point. "Am I even going to find her?" The witch's face does something funny. He almost seems confused, only for a moment, and then he smirks.

  
"You will find her." There's something hidden beneath the words, a trace of a plan, of something sinister. "Soon." He turns before Marius has a chance to respond, to ask what he came here to ask (Can you reverse it? Will you reverse it? Does Caroline have to die for my punishment?), muttering in a highly amused voice, "Magic doesn't always work how you want it too."


End file.
